


Montgomery Scott and the (Quantum) Leap of Love

by geeky_ramblings, MaxWrite, nix_this



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Event 3, M/M, Team Tartan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geeky_ramblings/pseuds/geeky_ramblings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nix_this/pseuds/nix_this
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Scotty wanted was some proper whisky to soothe his broken heart, but the universe had other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Montgomery Scott and the (Quantum) Leap of Love

**Author's Note:**

> **Authors & Artists for each section:** [darke_wulf](http://darke_wulf.livejournal.com) (Batman), [elfsausage](http://elfsausage.livejournal.com) (Intro, Galaxy Quest, Princess Bride), [Mir](http://geeky_ramblings.livejournal.com) (Xena, Glee), [MaxWrite](http://maxwrite.dreamwidth.org) (Snow White, Doctor Who, Princess Bride, beta), [mdevile](http://nix_this.livejournal.com) (art for Glee, Batman, Doctor Who, Princess Bride, beta) and [rosivan](http://rosivan.livejournal.com) (art for Intro, Snow White, Xena, Galaxy Quest)

Scotty and Jim surveyed the mess of wires and containment units rigged onto the landing pad of the transporter in silence. Since the time-travelling Spock had stolen Scotty's thunder by casually handing him his life's work on Delta Vega, Scotty had dedicated his talents to solving the next issue that plagued his heart.

"Scotty," Jim said, "There's no way in hell you can cross a makeshift still with a transporter to create the perfect whisky replicator."

It stung a mite to hear Jim dismissing his efforts. Scotty didn't think the lad had fully considered the possibilities yet. "I thought I'd work an old oak barrel into the equation, you know, for flavour," he said hopefully.

"Give it up, man. It's a dream."

"You've no faith in me at all, have ye, Captain?"

"I have absolute faith in your ability to break the laws of physics and decimate a plate of sandwiches faster than a plague of locusts. But perfect whisky can't be replicated."

Scotty arched an eyebrow. "Care to lay a wager on that?"

Before Jim could reply, his comm interrupted them.

_"Hey, Blondie, you're late!"_

"On my way, Cupcake," Jim said. "Keep your pants on."

_"Too late, sweetheart. Hurry up, I'm naked and sticky and that package arrived today!"_

Jim frowned. "Package?"

 _"_ You _know the one,"_ Cupcake said in a tone that made Scotty want to punch something.

"Sorry, Scotty," said Jim. "Another time, eh?"

Jim scampered out of the transporter room like an excited puppy.

"As you wish, sir," Scotty murmured forlornly to Jim's retreating arse. Truly he meant, "I love you," but Jim's affections clearly lay elsewhere.

Scotty sighed. He was in love with his captain–had been from the first, when he'd seen Jim's brashness and bold ingenuity employed to save the world, win a ship and his soon-to-be chief engineer's heart over the course of a day. And Jim's reverence for their _Enterprise_ only fixed Scotty's affections more firmly.

But Jim apparently had no idea, so instead Scotty and his BFF Keenser kept one another from getting too lonely (those knobbly ridges were surprisingly pleasurable), and Doctor McCoy could always be relied on when a drinking mate was needed. But while his home brew would serve, Scotty still longed for a wee sip of Glenmorangie, and it was Jim Kirk's smiling blue eyes that he dreamed of at night.

He'd completed his transporter/still modifications and was ready for a test run. He patted the console fondly. "Okay, lass. I cannae have me captain, but I can sure as hell have a glass of the good stuff. Grant me my heart's desire."

He pressed a button and heard the familiar transporter whine. But instead of the pad lighting up, the console did. Scotty's stomach dropped as the room began to spin in a kaleidoscope of colours.

"Aaaaaarrrrrrrgggghhh!" he cried as he was pulled into warp.

  
  


* * *

He stumbled as he materialised, falling against a…tree?

"What the…" he said as he surveyed his surroundings. Every way he looked, there were trees and shafts of sunlight shot like golden tractor beams through the canopy of leaves overhead.

"Where the sodding hell…" he muttered as he straightened up. He reached for his phaser, only to remember with a sickening jolt that he didn't have one. Well, bollocks.

This was wrong. His experiment wasn't supposed to send him anywhere. It shouldn't even have worked! Perhaps there'd been an explosion and he'd fallen and hit his head. Maybe he was out cold and hallucinating.

Or maybe…

"Bloody well broke the laws of physics," he said, scratching his head as he glanced helplessly about.

Laughter sounded behind him. He wheeled–heart pounding–ready to defend himself. A young man came into view, making his way through the trees. His clothes were bright and airy, his white shirt's gauzy material fluttering in the breeze that wafted through the clearing.

Along with him came several creatures, furred and feathered. They flew and scampered along, surrounding him in cheerful twitters and squeaks. There was even a deer. A bloody, great hart, antlers and all.

Scotty squinted at the lad, taking in his curls and familiar lanky awkwardness. No, it couldn't be…

"Chekov?"

The boy startled, noticing Scotty standing just past the treeline. The animals stopped and stared as well.

It was definitely Chekov. The big, blue eyes blinking at Scotty in surprise were the same as those of the lad who'd challenged him to all night drinking and maths competitions on their first leave.

Save for the sobriety, of course. And the total lack of recognition.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Scotty demanded, stepping forward. Chekov tensed and moved back, his animal friends closing in tighter around him. If Scotty didn't know better, he'd swear they were glaring.

"I am sorry, sir," Chekov said. "I think you have mistaken me for someone else."

Scotty's mind raced; he wasn't on the _Enterprise_ anymore. If this was real, if he was looking at another version of Chekov, then this must be…Buggering hell, another alternate universe!

"Well, hang me upside down and call me Nancy," he said, grinning. "I _did_ break the laws of physics." He looked at alter-Chekov again and said, "I think you're right. Apologies. The name's Montgomery Scott. Maybe you can help me."

Chekov canted his head. "Montgomery Scott…" Finally, something like recognition crossed his face, lighting up his eyes. A delicate hand fluttered to his chest. "Oh, Your Majesty, please forgive me." He bowed deeply, giving the nearest squirrel a flick with his finger when his animal companions didn't follow suit. With an annoyed squeak, the squirrel gestured to the others and they all bowed. Even the birds perched on the deer's antlers lowered their heads.

Scotty could only gape at them.

Chekov straightened, the blatant awe on his face making Scotty fidget. "I apologise, Your Highness. I have been living here, in the woods, for many months, unable to communicate with the outside world. I didn't recognise you." He glanced around. "Where is your horse?"

"My horse?" Scotty asked incredulously. "Er, no, I don't have…Who are you thinking I am?"

"Why, the prince, of course."

"The…prince?"

"I am sorry, I should have known. Your clothing alone should have told me you are an important man."

Scotty glanced down at his uniform. "Er, right. Listen, Chek…What's your name?"

Chekov smiled. Had his teeth always gleamed like that? Come to think of it, his skin was clearer too, perfect, pale and smooth. There were little glints of blond in his curls that shone in the sunlight he stood within, and his eyes twinkled, greenish-blue like jewels of the sea.

Scotty shook his head to clear it. Something was afoot here if even his thoughts were turning to poetry.

"Pavel," Chekov replied. "Pavel Chekov. You were right, Your Highness. You know my name." He seemed half disbelieving, half flattered.

"Yeeeah," Scotty said. "Listen, I'm not supposed to be here–"

"You have come to see me," Chekov said, breathless. He stepped forward, and now it was Scotty's turn to tense up.

"What?"

"I hear things," Chekov continued in a conspiring whisper. "I am supposed to be in hiding, but there are ways to learn what is happening in the real world. My friends," he said, glancing at the wee woodland creatures, "they bring me news. They are wonderful; they wake me every morning, tuck me in at night, help me clean, help me cook, sing songs with me. They even sewed this for me." He indicated his shirt and looked at Scotty again, beaming and batting his lashes.

"Help you cook, eh?" Scotty asked, eyeing the animals warily. "That's a mite unsanitary, isn't it?"

"Oh, no!" Chekov protested. "They are the cleverest things, and I need the help. The seven little men who are kind enough to hide me in their cottage have done so much for me. I must repay them, but I can't do it all alone."

"Seven little men?"

"Yes; small and green and lumpy." Chekov frowned. "I do not know what they are, but they are very kind."

Scotty stifled a snort. "'Bout yay high?" he asked, holding his hand four feet above the ground. "Beady black eyes, smart little mouths."

Chekov nodded. "I have heard of your travels, Prince Montgomery. They say you are in search of a mate."

Scotty boggled, thinking fleetingly of Jim. "Do they, now? Who says that, then?"

"The squirrels, mainly," Chekov replied earnestly.

Scotty glared at the squirrels. _Gossipy little buggers,_ he thought.

"And now you are here," Chekov said. "I dreamed of you." He stepped closer, not stopping this time. Scotty began to back up. "I dreamed that someday my prince would come; that you would rescue me from the evil queen."

"Got a queen after you, do you?" Scotty asked distractedly, continuing his retreat. The animals seemed determined to assist Chekov; they were advancing too, beady eyes focused in a way that made him very nervous.

"Yes," Chekov said. "She is jealous of me for my beauty. She has tried to kill me."

"That's rough. Er, would you mind calling off your friends? Little beasties're creeping me out." But then Scotty's retreat was halted as his back connected with something hard and tree-like. A tiny "eep" escaped his throat. He wanted to run for it, head deeper into the forest, but he was certain the animals would give chase. Granted, Chekov didn't seem keen to hurt him, but it was becoming quite obvious what he _did_ want. He was an attractive young man, certainly, but…he was _Chekov_.

The lad stepped close, his eyes full of desire, hands going to Scotty's chest. "I knew you would come," he whispered.

Scotty gulped. "Come now, lad, surely you're not suggested that we…right here in front of…" He gestured wildly at the surrounding animals.

Without missing a beat, Chekov glanced back at them and said in a voice much harsher than before, "Beat it!" The critters scattered, going off in all directions.

Scotty swore he could feel their wee eyes peering out from between the trees, keeping watch. He gulped.

"Let me prove to you," Chekov purred, beginning to unlace his shirt, "what a good partner I will be."

"Laddie," Scotty said shakily, "I don't think you know what you're doing. I'm not this prince fellow you're so keen on. I'm not even from here."

"I know you are not from here," Chekov murmured as he pulled his shirt open, revealing his smooth, flat chest. "You are from the castle, far, far away."

"No, that's not what I me-he-he…" Scotty glanced down and lost the power of speech. Chekov's shirt lifted just enough to show Scotty the beginnings of a tantalizing treasure trail leading down into his trousers. Scotty's eyes travelled back up his torso, past the smooth shoulder revealed as Chekov's shirt gaped loose, and fixed on the lips that Chekov was licking seductively. The lad had lashes so long Scotty could fair feel a breeze every time he blinked.

"Er…" Scotty stammered. "It's not that you're not attractive, you know, it's just that…well…" For a moment, Scotty wondered why he was resisting. The longer he looked into Chekov's eyes, the foggier his brain felt, like he was falling under a spell, falling in love.

But no, that wasn't right. His heart belonged elsewhere. But Chekov…damn fine looking lad.

Scotty's salvation came to him in a flash of remembrance. "You still seventeen?" he asked.

Chekov nodded proudly, as if this were a selling point.

It wasn't.

"Well, that's the end of that!" Scotty declared, snapping out of his trance. "It's been a lark, really, and I hope you find your man, I'm sure he's around here someplace, but it's time I took my leave–HEY! LET GO OF THAT!"

Chekov, apparently deciding that he was having none of Scotty's protests, had reached down and unceremoniously grabbed a handful of Scotty private bits.

"I must convince you," Chekov breathed.

"Shit," Scotty squeaked. He tried to make his legs move, but he was falling into Chekov's eyes again and the lad was moving closer and smelled so sweet, like a meadow after the rain, like a field of flowers, like…rainbows! _Yes_ , he smelled like sodding rainbows and Scotty couldn't push him away even as his heart keened for someone else.

He watched Chekov's lips draw nearer. He surrendered to the inevitable with one final pang of longing.

Chekov's lips touched his.

And then– _poof_ –those lips were gone.

  
  


* * *

When Scotty's atoms reconfigured, he was standing in another bloody forest. It was enough to make a grown man weep–not only was he sill not home, but he was wearing a twice-bedamned colander on his skull!

Confused and irritated, Scotty's survey was cut short by a petite blonde carrying a large staff. She appeared from the trees, marching over and tweaking his nose hard.

Knowing that killing the lass could possibly create a rip in the space-time continuum was about all that prevented him from losing his hold on his rapidly fraying calm.

"Joxer, why'd you just wander off like that? We're supposed to be looking for Bliss!" the blonde said angrily.

"Um…I thought I saw him in the bushes but it was just a deer," Scotty stammered, playing along in hopes of finding out where he was.

"Come on, Joxer _the Mighty_ , Xena's waiting," she said, grabbing him by the ear.

She dragged him to a small clearing, only loosening her grip when they met a lovely, black-haired woman seated atop a caramel-coloured steed. He pulled away from the grabby blonde chit and studied the new arrival. If she was the aforementioned Xena, then he was the mighty Joxer (whatever that was).

His musings were cut short when a booming voice sounded all around them:

__  
**"In a time of ancient gods...warlords...and kings...a land in turmoil cried out for a hero. She was Xena, a mighty princess forged in the heat of battle. The Power. The Passion. The Danger. Her courage will change the world."**  


Scotty covered his ears, but the ladies stared at him in confusion. "Ach, didn't you hear that?"

"Hear what?" the blonde asked, giving him a strange look.

"That voice…"

"Joxer, are you alright?" Xena asked.

"Aye, I'm fine…" Scotty lied. "I think."

"Joxer, we don't have time for this!" Exasperation flavoured the violent one's voice. "Bliss has stolen Cupid's arrows again! He's been making every man, woman and child fall in love with a cow! We have to find him." And she hit him on the head with her staff. Again.

"This infernal dozy's completely daft," Scotty grumbled to himself. He didn't know how this Joxer person put up with her abuse.

"Goddamn it, Gabrielle, leave him alone," a familiar, gruff voice said from nowhere.

"But…" the vicious harpy–Gabrielle–protested.

"Cupid's right," Xena added sternly. "He's had enough for today."

"Fine," Gabrielle said, pouting something fierce.

"Thank you," Scotty said, turning to his savior, Cupid of all things. Like in the legends.

Coming face-to-face with Leonard McCoy near knocked him off his feet. Except it wasn't exactly the man he knew and drank with. Instead of the brown-haired, grumpy-demeanoured, hazel-eyed doctor, this McCoy had radioactive blond hair and a pair of...wings? Scotty blinked. Aye, this McCoy could fly.

He longed for a drink. And his ship. And his universe, where Leonard McCoy would laugh at the very idea of an aviaphobic, bitterly-divorced medic playing the role of the God of love.

Flying-God-Len's companion, a woman with flowing spiral curls, wearing sheer, pink lingerie, sighed loudly. "Have you guys found him yet? Because I have an orgy waiting for me in Maui."

"I haven't seen the brat since the last time you lost him," Xena admitted.

"I knew I shouldn't have let Apollo watch him," Leonard-Cupid-No-Wait-Really said.

A giggle brought their attention the sky. Scotty looked up to find a boy, holding what could only be Cupid-Len-You've-Got-To-Be-Kidding-Me's missing bow, flying overhead. Perhaps two or three years old, he had a head of golden curls and the devil's-own grin on his wee face. For a harbinger of cattle romancing, the lad was cute.

Leonard-Cupid-Aye-Just Go-With-It called, "Come to daddy."

"Uh-uh," the boy said, cocking back the arrow.

He let it go and it proceeded to strike Leonard-Cupid right in the arse, before the man had a chance to run. Time seemed to stop as his eyes met Scotty's.

Scotty backed away, flashes of a lustful Chekov springing to mind. What he wouldn't give to have his Jim look at him with such a measure of longing.

He didn't get far before Leonard-Cupid-Whoever pounced. He could feel every inch of smooth, muscular chest pinning him to the ground. Cupid-Len-Oh- _Hello_ went straight for the goods and cupped Scotty's dick firmly.

Scotty gulped and struggled, which led to some not-unpleasant friction.

Then the god leaned down and began singing–off-key–into his ear.

_"Joxer's cock is very mighty,_  
he never needs hides it  
With Cupie as his sidekick,  
playing with his big stick" 

The awful doggerel stopped, and Scotty relaxed. When Leonard-Cupid-Don't-Quit-Your-Day-Job-McCoy moved in for a kiss, Scotty figured it had to be better than more singing.

The first brush of lips was rather pleasant, and Scotty was about to let Cupid-Leonard-Oh-Yes-Like-That have his way when the dizzying dissolution ripped him away.

  
  


* * *

Slumping into a stiff plastic chair, Scotty's awareness resolved in a classroom of teenagers. A bell rang, and he winced as it beat into his sore head. He was catching on. Twice he'd been kissed by alternate counterparts of his colleagues, and twice he'd been immediately yanked to another reality.

At least he was indoors this time, no bloody trees in sight.

An older man was setting up to play the piano across the room. As the first notes rang out, a dark-haired girl started belting out some breathy nonsense about telephones and dance floors. Her face contorted like that of a gassy babe as she struggled with the higher registers of her range. Bugger and damn, it was _music_ class. And here Scotty was, sober as a judge.

The song was over before Scotty could sort out an exit strategy. The girl paused, studying her classmates as if waiting on their reaction.

Scotty ducked his head when her eyes rested on him a fraction longer that the rest.

"That was wonderful, Rachel," said the gent at the piano, enthusing a mite stronger than Scotty thought was warranted.

Scotty froze as he recognised the voice. Aye, he'd know it anywhere! It was the same smug voice that had pronounce his exile to Delta Vega. His head snapped up to verify that it was indeed one Admiral Archer smiling beatifically at his captive audience. This Archer was younger than the one Scotty knew; perhaps only in his forties, but Scotty would recognise those eyes anywhere. He could still see them glaring at him in his mind. Scotty peered about, trying to spot that infernal beagle.

"Of course it was, Mr. Schuester!" the singing lass piped up. "Now, I'd like to discuss my solo for Nationals."

"Rachel, how about we give someone else a chance? Finn, do you have a song for the ballad assignment I gave you last week?" Archer-now-Schuester called out. The weight of sudden expectation distracted Scotty from his search, and he looked up, realising the teacher was speaking to _him_.

"Um…course I do," he lied, searching desperately for something in his repertoire that didn't involve whisky, raunch or maths.

He stood, stalling by straightening his jacket and fussing with his shirt. He cleared his throat several times, opened his mouth and hoped for the best.

_I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts…  
There they are all standing in a row…_

He ended it with one long, sour note–how can you expect a proper Scotsman to sing _sober_? The other teens stared at Scotty in stunned silence. He felt his face heat under their scrutiny, doubtful it was owing to awe at his performance.

Rachel glared at him as if he'd deeply offended her. Scotty gave up on fitting in and made a run for it. Unfortunately, he was stopped by Archer-now-Schuester's hideous blue cardigan and surprisingly toned chest.

"Finn, see me after practice! Now sit down."

Scotty slunk back to his uncomfortable chair, casting longing glances at the door.

Some sort of Spanish rock song was being taught. Only, he dimly remembered Journey from his Da's obsession with twentieth-century rock music, and he was certain "Don't Stop Believing" was meant to be sung in English.

The kids got up to dance spastically around him. Scotty was sweating bullets. He got the feeling he would be longing for exile to another ice planet before the day was done. Thinking about Delta Vega reminded him of Jim, how the man had appeared there as if by magic to steal him away to the _Enterprise_. He sighed, missing his captain desperately.

The song ended with a chorus line of high kicks and jazz hands, held an improbably long time before the kids laughed and dispersed. Scotty stayed immobile as a lad with a mohawk tried to bump fists with him. When his gesture failed, he wished Scotty luck and then abandoned him to deal with a fate worse then death.

A chill ran up his spine when he realised he was alone with the creepy Archer-clone.

"Thought we'd never be alone," Archer-Schuester murmured, sitting beside Scotty. "God, you don't know how horny your song made me…"

"What?" Scotty gulped. "I don't think…"

"We both have needs, Finn. We can take care of them together." The older man eye fucked Scotty shamelessly.

"But this isn't right," Scotty insisted, ready to bolt.

Placing a finger on his lips, Archer-Schuester shushed him before kissing him passionately.

Never before had Scotty been so relieved to be disassembled and scattered throughout space-time.

  
  


* * *

There was an instant after he rematerialised that Scotty thought maybe he was finally home. The unmistakable scent of recycled starship air was like manna from heaven, and the feel of a warm, synthetic uniform on his skin was a great relief.

But it wasn't the _Enterprise_. There was a transporter pad, and a likely enough console before him to operate it, but the controls were unfamiliar. There was someone on either side of him–a moustached man with a huge, tacky pendant to his left, and Spock, of all beings, on his right.

But this Spock was as different and unsettling as the other alternates he'd encountered.

He had an actual _emotional_ look on his face. _Is that what Vulcans look like when they smile?_ Scotty wondered.

Strange, that.

Aye, it was a safe bet that he was in another bleeding alternate universe. Both men wore blue and grey uniforms, with a strange insignia he couldn't place. And they were staring. At him.

"Errr…" he said.

"What's wrong, Fred?" the moustached man asked. "Come on. You've got it in your sights, right?"

Scotty hesitated. If this bloke thought he was going to _beam_ something with unfamiliar controls, he had another thing coming. "I can't…"

"Those people are going to suffocate if you don't hurry."

"Guy is correct," Spock agreed. "They will be dead within two minutes if you do not act." His smile was downright disturbing. And since when did Spock round things off?

"Alright, keep your knickers on." Holding back his panic, Scotty tried to make sense of the panel. All the proper elements were present, but they were oddly arranged. Where his had touch-activated screens, this one had joysticks and big, shiny buttons. They were all labelled though, bless militarised standards for that. He could do this.

The creature on the screen had wandered out of his sights, so he fiddled with the joysticks until he got him again. "Right. What next?"

"I believe it is the blue button, followed by the yellow," Spock said. "I understand you have not used the digital conveyer in some time, Tech Sergeant Chen, but I request that you hurry."

Fighting the urge to close his eyes, Scotty pressed the buttons in the suggested sequence and then hung onto the joysticks for dear life. Ten seconds later, nothing had appeared on the transporter pad, though the monster had disappeared from the screen. "What's happened then?" he asked nervously.

Spock pressed some buttons, and the video image changed to an engineering deck, complete with a warp core in the centre. The rock-beast was waving its arms and smashing everything in sight–including some big, ugly aliens that reminded Scotty of Klingons. Finally the monster smashed through the hull and it, along with the aliens, were sucked into space.

Scotty was pained at such damage to the poor ship. He prayed the real Tech Sergeant Chen could fix her. He'd be needing some high impact totarium and the new polymant fusers to do it. Perhaps some additional reinforcement beams as well. If this were the _Enterprise_ , he and Jim could get the bulk of the work done within days.

Guy slung his gun over his shoulder and slapped Scotty on the back, startling him from his daydream repairs and ensuing celebratory fantasies. "You did it, Fred!" Guy-of-the-dashing-moustache gushed.

"I did?" Scotty asked, brightly. "Aye, I did. Well, that's dandy. Now what?"

Instead of answering, Guy ran for Engineering, dragging Scotty along by the arm. "We need to get to the emergency air valves. It was your plan, remember?"

"Uh, aye. Of course," Scotty agreed a bit breathlessly.

Spock followed, stopping to re-pressurised the Engineering deck and seal the emergency bulkhead from a wall console outside the door.

That done, they dashed inside. "I think I found it!" Guy called. They gathered around the long console, and Scotty turned the valve helpfully marked Emergency Life Support Control A. The hiss of releasing oxygen was unnaturally loud, but welcome.

Spock smiled unnervingly and tapped a rapid sequence on the main panel. Video came up, showing the prison doors opening and all the trapped people inside taking hearty lungfuls of air.

"That's great!" Guy beamed. "Now, we better get–"

Spock looked at Scotty with wicked intent. The engineer's eyes widened in surprise and a touch of fear. Before he could back away, Spock's arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a firm, full-body–and hello there Mr. Spock–embrace.

"Hey guys, get a room," Guy chuckled.

Scotty didn't even have a chance object when he felt tentacles snaking around him, suckers tugging at his clothing. It was absolutely fantastic, if a mite unusual. Spock leaned in and planted one on him.

The last thing he heard as he was pulled from this universe was Guy wailing in disgust, "Oh hey, that's just not right!"

  
  


* * *

When Scotty's awareness returned, he was seated at a huge, outdated computer bank. The sound of running water caught his notice. He was in some sort of massive underground cave, complete with stalactites, stalagmites, a flock of bats, and a bloody waterfall!

Scattered about was a fair collection of tech that would normally set him to drooling in avaricious glee, but he was too tired to appreciate it properly.

But, hey, at least there were no bedamned trees, violent folk, or emergency air locks to be reached in this...Bat-cave?

Stranger still, he was wearing some sort of black armour–with a cape of all things, fluttery and emasculating and just plain silly, though not so much as the giant, stylised bat on his chest.

What sort of daftie had he become this time?

With the computers, he actually had a chance to figure it out. He lit up the display with a few keystrokes and got to work.

Everything was open to him. Abstractly grateful that he didn't have to waste time fiddling with ancient encryptions–a task more befitting his Captain than himself. Jim'd probably see this whole mad lark as some sort of adventure–he worked out how to redirect the current search in short order.

He seemed to be on Earth, twentieth century, though not the one he was familiar with. This place was darker and bleaker, every news item laced with a sense of hopelessness. It was such a far cry from home, that he felt the absence of his lady, his friends and his Captain all the more keenly.

As soon as he found the first mention of the Batman bloke, his stomach sank. Adding up the cave, the tech and the improbable armour, Scotty could only reach one conclusion.

"I'm Batman," he growled. His voice echoed in the cavern and startled him.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" he said, pained. "This is getting a tetch past ridiculous into full-out lunacy."

He was at the monitors well into the wee hours, before an unlikely bloke came to fetch him up to bed. It had to be a butler, what with the fancy suit, the accent and his whole manner. But what kind of posh numpty dressed like a bat and had a butler?

He was thankful for the chance to rest, at last.

* * *

Five days later, however, Scotty was starting to go sparey. He'd been kissed plenty at the various functions he'd had to attend as Bruce Wayne but still he was stuck. He figured the kiss had to come with some measure of passion to send him into the next world. He spared a moment to pity poor 'Brucie'–not least for his unfortunate nickname–that none of the vain, pretty people he'd been forced to rub elbows with for the better part of a week held that sort of feeling for him.

He knew the old sassenach–Alfred–was getting suspicious. Not only had Scotty not ‘gone out' as Batman since he'd arrived (that was a disaster he'd much rather avoid, thank you kindly) but the man was apparently quite close to Wayne. Meaning he was picking up on Scotty's mistakes all-too-easily. He didn't know why Alfred hadn't confronted him yet, but he wasn't complaining. He figured he deserved the small bit of fortune, especially since he had no love for the fancy parties he was forced to attend.

A tinkling, fake laugh from his dinner companion at some sort of Garden Party was what tipped him over the edge. He'd never been prone to claustrophobia–you couldn't conduct repairs on a starship if you couldn't breathe in a Jeffries Tube–but suddenly the reception hall was too close, too stifling. The walls were closing in, and all the people jammed together was too bloody much.

Desperately scanning the room, he saw an emergency exit in a back corner. He near ran for it, slamming his way through when he saw it wasn't alarmed. Not caring if any were paying him mind, he left the party for the more appealing atmosphere of the alley behind the building.

He began to settle as soon as the open, though slightly fetid air hit him. It was a far sight better than the overly perfumed mausoleum he'd just left.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, bringing one hand up to rub them while he loosened his tie and leaned back against the a brick wall. He just wanted to go home…

A strike to the stomach was the next thing Scotty knew. He bent over, gasping, and saw a grimy gloved fist still pinning him against the wall by his gut. His assaulter's dirty purple suit had clearly seen better days, as had the sickly green waistcoat.

 _Someone should really stage a fashion intervention for the crazies of this town,_ he thought even as he sputtered and coughed.

His years of bar brawls kicked in. He headbutted the bastard, then shouldered him off to gain some space so he could better analyze the mess he'd gotten into this time.

Grotesque scars marred either side of the manic grin on a garishly painted but disturbingly familiar face…

Desperate to be wrong, Scotty took in the hair–chaotic curls, dyed green, but with enough of the original blond showing to seize his heart. The wide blue eyes, as intense and determined as those he knew, but with a core of madness that struck a chord of fear in Scotty.

"Che…Chekov?" he gasped.

The man…Chekov…tilted his head to one side, those damn eyes narrowing as he studied Scotty like a lab rat. A full-body shudder gave way to a slow, twisted smile as Chekov began to advance, pulling a knife from inside his coat.

"Brucie, whatever am I going to do with you? Or, should I say, Batman?"

Scotty backed up, moving deeper into the alley. From what he had been able to discover, only old Alfred should know he was the Batman, though he thought that Fox guy might suspect, too. But there was no way that this…this…monster wearing Chekov's face should know.

"I went to all the trouble of breaking out of Arkham, and you can't even be bothered to come see me? I'm hurt, snookums."

"What are you on about?" Scotty sputtered, cursing himself when he saw Chekov's glare sharpen at his accent.

Chekov continue to stalk, backing Scotty into a wall. When he was close enough, he lunged, throwing an arm across Scotty's throat. He leaned against him, stretching his neck until his garish mouth could snarl into Scotty's ear.

"Who the hell are you, and what have you done to my Bat?" he demanded, raising the knife until the point rested against Scotty's chin.

"I don't know what you mean," Scotty said, anxiously fidgeting as he tried to come up with a lie that would fool this nutbag.

"Don't play games. I know the Bat. I know how he talks, how he acts, how he moves…everything. You are not him."

The knife pricked Scotty's skin, just above the arm that was cutting off his airway, and Scotty began to panic. He had no idea what would happen to him if he died here. And he had no desire to find out.

"Now," Chekov demanded, insane eyes glaring, "Where. Is. My. Bat?"

"I can't…I don't!" Scotty cried, feeling the blood ooze slowly down his throat. "It wasn't my idea!"

The arm at his throat pressed harder, completely cutting off his air. He brought his hands up, grasping Chekov's arm, but too wary of the knife to try overpowering the slighter man.

"Wrong answer," Chekov replied. Then his gaze turned contemplative, and a smirk slid onto his face. "Still, it would be a shame to waste such a golden opportunity. The body's right, even if the…spirit isn't. I can slice the information out of you momentarily. But before things get messy…"

"The hell?" Scotty choked out, not caring anymore about his fate. He was tired, frustrated, scared shitless by this psychotic version of his friend. This was the worst, yet. Even worse than Archer!

For an answer, Chekov moved his arm and the knife from Scotty's throat. Scotty immediately began gasping, though he was careful not to move too much lest Chekov be tempted to start poking holes in him. Then Chekov wrapped Scotty's tie around his hand, using it to pull his head down and force him into the most violently passionate kiss of his life.

Of course, after a million and one lousy kisses from idiot heiresses–and a few heirs–it was only now that Scotty felt the world finally falling away.

He went gladly.

  
  


* * *

Blurry shapes swam before his eyes. He vaguely remembered being choked to unconsciousness, but that was over now. The more pressing problem was why he couldn't move his arms. And why it was so bloody cold.

"You're awake," said a pleasant male voice with an English accent. "Excellent. Perhaps now you can tell me who you are."

Scotty squinted, but still couldn't see properly. "I'll not explain a bleeding thing until you tell me why I was attacked."

"A Scotsman. How charming. Haven't heard a Scottish accent since…well, never. Not in person. Thought it'd been phased out. In fact…" The man came closer, his blurriness filling Scotty's field of vision. "It _was_ phased out. I know because I know everything. Which is why you pose such a conundrum."

"What're you blathering about?"

"You, sir, don't exist."

"Oh, I don't? Well, that's news to me."

"You don't exist in the system. The system knows all, and there's no record of you anywhere. Yet…here you are."

"Well, I don't bloody well belong here, do I? And I'd like to get back to my own universe, so if you'll kindly release me–"

"I don't think so. Not until we work out what you want."

"All I want, laddie, is to get home."

"Laddie?" the man laughed. "I'm hardly a lad anymore. In fact I'd say I'm…oh, about your age."

"And you know that how?"

But then Scotty's vision cleared and his captor came into view. He was platinum blond and about Scotty's height. He had a roundish face, like Scotty, little round ears, like Scotty, and a smile…like Scotty's…

"Great Zefram Cochrane," Scotty whispered.

"You see?"

Yes, Scotty saw it now. The man could've been his twin, save for the silly blond hair. He had a goatee and ghostly pale skin. He wore a dark suit and a smug smile. Then there were the eyes. They were the most unnatural blue Scotty had ever seen on a human; vibrant electric blue.

Scotty was restrained in some kind of apparatus, standing upright with shackles on his wrists. He was in some kind of space station. Monitors flickered around him at work stations where people were sitting, all engrossed in their work, completely ignoring the two men. Everything was covered in frost.

"Who're you?" Scotty demanded, looking at his captor. "Why do you look like me?"

"I'm the Editor of Satellite 5. As for your second question, I was hoping you could tell me. What universe are you from? What year?" The Editor cocked his head, looking into Scotty's eyes in an intense, searching way that made Scotty fidgety. He stepped closer, his face now inches away. "You're very far from home, aren't you?"

Scotty said nothing.

"What year?"

Scotty gulped; those creepy eyes were unnerving him. "2258."

The Editor's eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious? My, you _are_ far from home."

"Why, what year's this?"

"That's not important. What _is_ important is that you're here now. My bizarre, Scottish doppelganger." He stepped close again. "I look awfully strange with dark hair, don't I?"

"Least I've got pigment. All yours must've frozen off in this place. Why's it so bloody cold?"

"Keeps the boss happy."

"What boss?"

The Editor pointed upwards and a rumble sounded from up above. Scotty slowly looked up, and jumped when he saw what was up there.

Above them was a massive, writhing creature, like a giant slug, its gelatinous body spread across the ceiling. It had a head, but no limbs that Scotty could see, and a mouth full of multiple rows of teeth, like a shark. It waved its head and roared, dripping saliva onto the floor. Every instinct Scotty had told him to run, but of course he couldn't. He stood there, heart pounding like mad as he kept staring long after his brain begged him to look away.

"Don't mind him," said the Editor, examining Scotty's face. "He's fairly harmless…Is my chin really that weak?"

"Is your…what?" Scotty looked at him again. "You've got a bloody great ball of phlegm on your ceiling and you're worried about your appearance? What _is_ that thing?"

The Editor rolled his eyes and explained in a put upon-sounding tone, "He's called a Jagrafess. He controls all of humanity, unbeknownst to them. Satellite 5 is a 600-channel news satellite, broadcasting news to the humans with little _alterations_ here and there–"

"Lies, you mean."

"Such an ugly word, but if you insist. We use this manipulated news to instill fear, to keep the humans obedient and prevent them from advancing technologically. Alright? Happier now that you know?" He frowned. "You could grow a little facial hair, cover up that sad excuse for a chin."

"Alright, that's enough! If you think you're feeding me to that thing–"

"Feed you to it? Oh, this must all be quite confusing for you. No, no, you see, Mister…what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," Scotty said through clenched teeth. His response seemed to annoy his host; he could see the Editor's jaw muscles twitch.

"It's rather frustrating, this not knowing," said the Editor. He gestured at the various monitors. "All of human history is at my fingertips here. I know everything. Except who the hell you are. Tell me, is ignorance really bliss? Because it seems positively dreadful."

"Alright, you mad, white-haired nyaff, back on track with you, then!"

"Right, yes. You, sir, are a mystery. Mysteries don't get eaten, they get solved. We can't dispose of you until we know what we're disposing of, and when we do figure you out, my brunette brother, you won't get eaten. You'll get put to work." The Editor gestured at the other people in the room. Scotty looked at them again, really looked at them. They weren't moving.

"They're dead," he said darkly.

"They are," said the Editor. "Occupational hazard. But you…" He stepped close again. "You don't need to die. Not if we can find another use for you."

"What sort of use?" Scotty looked at him and found those strange eyes sizing him up again.

"Gets rather lonely up here, you know. All day, everyday, with him." The Editor gestured up at the Jagrafess. "Not the best conversationalist, him. I don't get much human contact, save for the few who get sent up here now and again to fill in for those who've decayed too much to continue. And they don't get to talk very long, as you can imagine."

"What could they possibly be doing if they're dead?"

"Processing."

"Processing what, maggots? They're bloody well _dead_."

"Chips in their heads. Their brains are the computer's processors."

Scotty didn't quite understand that, but he didn't want to think about it, either. "Okay, so you say I can avoid becoming like them. How?"

The Editor smiled. "Ever wondered what it'd be like to–how do I put this delicately–experience the ultimate form of…masturbation?"

Scotty blanched. "You're not serious."

"Oh, but I am."

"It must be Shag a Scotsman Day in every universe apart from my own. You want _me_. With my dark hair and my weak chin?"

The Editor shrugged. "You're me. An alternate, Scottish me. Who among us hasn't wondered what we'd do if we met our alternate selves? What it'd be like to…you know."

"Have it off."

"Precisely."

Scotty's mind raced. If he was right, letting his alternate self kiss him could be his ticket out. He rolled his eyes reluctantly admitting, "Okay, yes, it's crossed my mind. And we're not a bad looking bloke."

"Certainly."

"But now that I'm faced with it…" He grimaced. "Not sure I can. Not without a stiff drink first."

"Well, from here it looks like you don't have much choice." The Editor smiled. "Now then, let's get this started in the least awkward way possible, shall we?" He stepped forward and none too gently took hold of Scotty's jaw. "Hold still," he said as he leaned in. "You've no idea how long it's been…since I kissed another person."

"What? Charming thing like you?" Scotty asked dryly.

"Shhhh. Let's not ruin the moment with words."

Scotty shut his eyes, not wanting to look. And then their lips met.

It wasn't entirely unpleasant. Scotty found he had nice lips, which he'd always suspected. But it didn't feel like he was being yanked to another universe.

"Well, that's weird, isn't it?" murmured the Editor, breaking the kiss.

"Very," Scotty breathed. His eyes darted; everything still looked solid. Shit.

"Not terrible, though," said the Editor.

"No. Not terrible." Which was true. But Scotty couldn't help but wish it was Jim who had him tied up. A little bondage could be fun. With the right person.

"Fancy another?"

Scotty considered. If he wasn't going anywhere and the only alternative was becoming a dead slave to the station's computer…He shrugged. "Long as I'm here."

There must've been something about this one being his duplicate, something that delayed the process, like the universes were confused, perhaps believing at first that Scotty wasn't kissing anybody because he was essentially kissing himself. But they finally caught up, because just as the Editor's tongue slipped into Scotty's mouth (and just as Scotty was getting into it…just a little), the air quivered and then the Editor, and Scotty's restraints, were gone.

  
  


* * *

"Rodents of Unusual Size? I don't believe they exist."

Scotty didn't have time to register who was speaking before something big flew at him, knocking him to the ground.

The sounds of a nearby struggle reached his ears, all grunts and snarls. A familiar shape tumbled past, entangled with a big, hairy beast.

"Captain?!" Scotty cried in shock.

Jim Kirk still managed to look dashing as he fought free and jumped to his feet. Dressed all in black, but for his gold leather command shirt, he danced about the swampy ground, fighting off a large, rat-like monster with his impressively huge sword. No, not that one. The pointy, metal kind.

For such a massive beast, the rat-thing was fast, and its enormous teeth dripped with rank-smelling saliva.

Scotty scrambled to his feet, grabbed the biggest stick he could find, and summoned his most bad-ass wail. Diving into the fray, he ran at the beast and poked it in the arse. The rat-thing let out an awful shriek and rounded on him. Scotty stumbled backwards as it lunged, not breathing again until the monster fell on its side, and Jim's grim, bloody face appeared behind it.

"You really oughta leave the monster-slaying to me, Buttercup," Jim admonished, wiping blood from his blade on the beast's corpse. He examined the blade before turning to Scotty. A familiar smirk crossed his face. "You all right?" he murmured, hot eyes making Scotty's heart skip as he was pulled into Jim's arms.

Scotty's breath caught at the embrace. It was his every dream come true.

But this wasn't his Jim. This wasn't his home.

He glanced warily around the dark, dank forest. Off in the distance a small fire flared up from nowhere on the dirt ground, making Scotty jump. Jim's grip tightened, strong hands rubbing his back, trying to soothe.

Scotty looked at him in disbelief.

"Come on," Jim said darkly, eyeing the now dying fire and tugging Scotty towards the path. "We're not far from the edge of the Fire Swamp. Half an hour and we'll be boarding the _Revenge_ and sailing to freedom."

"The _Revenge_?"

"My ship. You'll like her, I think." He smiled as he laced their arms together. "You always had a thing for ships and she's a beauty." He hurried them along, using his sword to slash vines covering their path. "By the way, did you call me _captain_ before?"

"Er…" Scotty stammered, unsure how to respond. Jim just gave a rakish grin.

"I gotta say, that's _seriously_ hot."

* * *

Typical of any Kirk scheme, it wasn't as easy as Jim predicted. They'd barely cleared the Fire Swamp when they were surrounded by a dozen men on black horses.

"Surrender!" the leader cried. He was the weirdest-looking man Scotty had ever seen; orange skin, fluffy hair and unnaturally large pecs.

"To me?" Jim asked casually. "Okay, I accept."

"Don't be a fool! You've kidnapped my intended. You'll pay with your miserable life."

Scotty couldn't help but notice how the strange man gestured at _him_ as he said the word "intended". What kind of madness had he fallen into now?

A rustling of leaves and movement in Scotty's periphery heralded the arrival of more men. They emerged from the surrounding forest, armed with crossbows, cutting off their escape.

Jim remained stubbornly confident. "I don't think you know what you're up against, Khan," he said calmly, raising his sword.

"Er, Jim?" Scotty said. Jim ignored him.

" _My_ intended and I have gotten to know these parts pretty well. We know all the tricks of the Fire Swamp. We'll be quite happy here."

 _"Jim,"_ Scotty hissed.

Khan sighed as though killing Jim was a minor inconvenience. "Have it your way," he said, glancing at his nails. "Gentlemen, fire at will!"

"Stop!" Scotty cried, not expecting anyone to actually listen. He was pleasantly surprised when they weren't summarily riddled with arrows.

Khan raised a hand and nodded for Scotty to continue. Scotty licked his lips and said, "Listen, I don't know exactly what's going on here, but it seems you lot are fighting over me, and while I'm well flattered, no one need die."

"Buttercup, my dear," Khan said, "your heart is as big and warm as the Florin sun, but you really should remember your place."

"What?" Scotty snapped. "No, I will not ' _remember my place_ ', whatever the sodding hell that means. And why does everybody keep calling me Buttercup? Look, you, er, Mr. Khan, if I go with you, will you let my friend live?"

"Buttercup, no!" Jim whispered urgently. "You'll marry Prince Humperdinck Khan over my dead body!"

"I'll not do a bloody thing over your dead body, you numpty! No one's marryin' anyone. So you two can calm the fuck down and we'll have a drink and sort this mess out like men."

Khan smiled indulgently. Scotty yearned to punch him. "Buttercup, darling, you cannot seriously care whether this monster lives or dies! He is the Dread Pirate Kirk! The most vile villain between here and Guilder."

"If you want him," Scotty declared, shifting to stand between Jim and Khan, "you'll have to go through me first."

Khan sighed. "Fine. Nero, shoot the Princeling."

"Wait, _what?_ "

The man at the prince's side–a fearsome git covered in tattoos, bearing a striking resemblance to one particularly troubled Romulan Scotty knew too well–raised his crossbow and aimed squarely at Scotty's chest.

"Marry me, Buttercup, and take your place at my side," said Khan, "or you and your pirate captain die here."

Scotty glanced back desperately, but Jim just shook his head. "I can kill him," he swore. Bless his foolish pride. Scotty'd known from the day he'd met his Jim that he'd stand beside him. Just as he knew it now.

This wasn't his Jim, but he wouldn't let him die.

"I'll go with you," Scotty announced, ignoring Jim's protests. "But you _will_ return this man to his ship unscathed, or, by God, it's me you'll deal with. You hear?"

Prince Humperdinck Khan bowed his head graciously. "Yes, my love. I swear it will be done."

* * *

Jim had promised he would always come for him. But here Scotty was, a week later, dressed in wedding finery, while an impressive clergyman stood before him and Prince Khan expounding on the virtues of true love. Well, he'd _been_ impressive. Until he'd opened his mouth.

"Mawwage. Mawwage is what bwings us togevah today. Mawwage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam wiffin a dweam."

The man droned on forever, and while Scotty's knees were aching from standing still so long, he didn't want the ceremony to end, because then Khan would kiss him, triggering another shift. He didn't want to leave this universe. Not without knowing that Jim was okay.

The Jim who, unlike the caricatures of the friends he'd encountered during his travels, was so very like his own Jim that he almost wished he could stay here. With the Jim that wanted him.

Panicked yells coming from the castle gates startled him from his musings. Khan tightened his hold on Scotty's arm to the point of pain and nodded to the Nero-clone, who dashed off to deal with the disturbance.

The clergyman continued as though oblivious to the happenings: "And wuv, twue wuv, wiww fowwow you fowevah–"

More shouting came from outside. Then a clash of swords, and a deep voice bellowing, _"I am the Dread Pirate Kirk! There will be no survivors!_

Khan looked panicked as he muttered to the clergyman, "Skip to the end."

"Have you the wing?" the clergyman asked.

_"The dread pirate Kirk is here for your souls!"_

"Man and mate!" Khan hissed. "Just say man and mate!"

"Man and– _oof_."

A sudden explosion of glass filled the chapel and Scotty ducked to protect himself. Peeking from between his fingers, he spied a giant, jagged hole in one of the stained-glass windows. A rope swung back out through the opening and Jim came crashing through the remaining shards, one leg outstretched as he sailed forth and kicked the clergyman off his pulpit.

He landed gracefully as the room erupted in chaos, guests fleeing every which way.

"Hey, Buttercup," he said with a smirk. He drew his sword and leapt down to engage Khan. The Prince drew his ceremonial sword with a howl of rage, and threw himself into battle. The pair dashed about, leaping over pews, swinging from lamps, swords clashing.

 _Now, you're talkin'!_ Scotty thought as he looked for a weapon. He finally grabbed an iron candelabra and waited for his chance to leap in.

Another cry sounded from the doorway. Scotty whirled around and stared in shock as Sulu, topless and hefting a rapier, lunged for Khan. Blood streaked across his chest. How he was even on his feet was a mystery.

Another figure rushed in behind him. Damned if it wasn't Leonard McCoy.

"Thought you'd never get here," Jim yelled without pausing; his and Sulu's attacks coordinating to harry Khan mercilessly. With McCoy's help, Khan was hard pressed to keep them at bay.

"Ran into an old friend," Sulu replied, breathless as he danced to-and-fro. "We had a little catching up to do."

"That explain all the blood?"

"It does. I'll be fine. My old friend…not so much. You should've seen me. I was all, 'My name is Hikaru Sulu! You killed my father! Prepare to die!' and he was all…"

Scotty finally saw his chance, rushed forward and gave Khan a good cosh upside the head. The man howled and flung out an arm, catching Scotty in the gut and sending him skittering across the floor.

Leonard rushed over to help, hauling Scotty his feet. "Y'alright, Buttercup?" he asked.

"Aye, I'm fine," Scotty replied, shaking off the blow. "And will everybody stop calling me Buttercup? It's bloody weird."

"Alright, don't go gettin' your panties in a bunch. What _should_ I call you?"

"Scotty," he said, with a smile. "My friends call me Scotty. And you?"

"Leonard. Or Fezzik. And, uh…sorry about that whole kidnapping thing. If it's any consolation, I never actually _wanted_ to kill you."

"Good…wait, what?"

Before an answer could come, Jim slashed Khan's hand, and the Prince dropped his sword with a wail. He fell to his knees, begging for his life. Jim stared at him a moment before sheathing his sword.

"You're not gonna finish him off?" asked Sulu, standing at Jim's side, looking down at Khan in disgust.

"Nah. That's not how I roll." Sulu nodded his approval. "Besides, I think he's learned his lesson. Alright, Khan, we're done here. Go. Before I change my mind."

With a scowl, Khan rose to his feet, his hands raised in surrender. "You haven't seen the last of–"

"My god, you're boring," Jim sighed. "You know, you might just win this fight yet, you keep talking at me. I wonder if dying of boredom's a painful way to go?"

"Nah, I think it's just a bit tiring," said Sulu.

"Ah, good."

Khan's glower intensified, but whatever prattle he was about to loose was silenced when Sulu chased him from the room at sword-point.

Alone at last, the four men grinned at each triumphantly. Jim made to reach for Scotty when a shadow spilled from the hallway. Swords and candelabra were raised once again.

"AH!" Scotty yelped upon seeing Chekov standing in the doorway, not knowing if the lad was going to kiss him or kill him. Chekov's wide eyes fixed on Scotty, puzzled.

"What is your problem?" he asked, striding forth. "I apologise for the kidnapping and the trying to murder you, but that is behind us now, yes?"

"What is it with you lot trying to murder me?" Scotty asked.

Chekov stopped before the group. "Why is everyone pointing sharp things at me?"

"Because we don't trust you?" Sulu offered.

"But the past is the past," Chekov said. "I have turned over a new leaf. I am an honest man now."

"We'll believe that when we see it, Vizzini," said Leonard, cocking and eyebrow.

"Fezzik, please. Vizzini is my outlaw name. Call me Pavel."

"Wait, didn't I kill you?" Jim asked, scratching his head.

"Pfft, inconceivable!" Pavel decried. "Kirk, please, you cannot kill me with mere poison."

Jim's eyebrows shot up. "Um, actually, yeah, I can. That's what poison is for."

"I outsmarted the poison. It was inside my body, after all. I had the home court advantage."

Jim's face scrunched up in disbelief. "You can't _outsmart_ poison."

"Whatever. By the way, on my way here, I encountered a woman who claimed to be a friend of yours. Miracle Nyota? Do you know this person?"

Sulu smiled. "Yeah. She okay?"

"Yes. She says you are all invited to her home to celebrate with her and her husband, Mister Spock, if you are successful. I didn't bother to ask what that meant."

The five men headed off to find a safe way out of the castle. Jim came up next to Scotty and took his hand.

"You alright, babe?" he murmured.

Scotty smiled. "Aye. I rather like that you call me that."

"What, 'babe'?"

"Yeah. It's better than Buttercup."

Jim chuckled. "Then I won't call you that anymore, Scotty." At that, Jim squeezed Scotty's hand, and Scotty was certain he wanted to stay here, wherever here was. He wished he could.

"I love you, you know," he blurted out. "Have for some time now."

Jim smiled. "I love you too."

It almost hurt, the relief was so sharp. But Scotty knew he wasn't out of the woods. He stopped, tugging Jim's arm, making him stop too, making them fall behind the others. He focused on Jim's mouth and hesitated. This was it, the ultimate test. He wasn't terribly hopeful. He was certain the moment their lips touched, he'd be whisked away to some other god-forsaken universe, one where Jim wasn't quite as Jim as he was here, one where he didn't know Scotty at all or didn't even exist.

Scotty screwed up his courage and went for it. Their lips touched and pressed, soft, almost chaste, the kind of kiss that made Scotty ache from its gentleness, a kiss sweet and tentative, but which held such promise, the kind that people wrote stories about.

Scotty shuddered slightly and pulled away, gasping.

And then he realised that he hadn't moved. The world was still solid. Jim was still here, smiling softly at him.

"Guess you missed me, then," he murmured.

Scotty grinned. Even physics couldn't stop true love, and Scotty'd never doubt that again. He wanted to sing, and he wasn't even drunk! "You've no idea, Captain."

"Love it when you call me that," Jim said, grinning back. "How about we join the others? Have an actual first date?"

Scotty clasped Jim's hand and laughed, unable to hold back his joy. "As you wish, Captain."

  
  


_The End_  



End file.
